In Sickness And In Health
by Got Tea
Summary: He loves her. She loves him. They have a wonderful life together. But is it enough? Sometimes a man is made to wonder if there is anything missing.
1. Chapter 1

Robbie sighed as James turned the corner and finally pulled up outside the house he had missed for days. It had been a long week; five days and four nights halfway across the country at a joint conference and training seminar. Almost a year after reforming their partnership, and Innocent had told them they couldn't avoid it any longer; it was their turn, they were going, and that was that. And so they had, and while the exercise was not totally without merit and learning for the pair of them, neither had been pleased to be away from home for an entire week.

"Thanks James," sighed Robbie as he opened the door, rolling out his stiff shoulders and plucking his bag from the backseat.

"You're welcome sir. Good night." Robbie pushed the door to with a nod and watched James drive away as he stifled a yawn. They should have been home a long time ago, but a massive pile up on the M1 had ground traffic to a standstill and left them stranded between junctions on the far side of Sheffield with nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait. For hours.

Turning, he walked up the dark path, listening to the quiet of a cold October night and pulled his keys from his pocket. He saw no lights on upstairs and hoped Laura was asleep, despite his desire to sweep her into his embrace and kiss her for an eternity. They had spoken several times in the last few days and he knew she was exhausted; three nights in a row she had been roused from their bed to attend suspicious deaths, all of which he was certain would have case files awaiting him and Hathaway come Monday morning.

Too tired to bother with it, he left his bag by the door after turning the key and headed for the stairs. He changed direction when the soft glow of a small lamp burning behind the barely ajar living room door caught his eye. Pushing it wider he stopped at the threshold and felt his heart flutter as a soft smile crept over his lips. He stood for a long moment, taking in the exquisite sight before him. She was curled up on her side on the sofa, a blanket wrapped tightly around her as she slept. Her favourite tea mug sat on the coffee table, still three quarters full, and a book lay open by her head, its pages obscured by Monty who had chosen to nap atop the words. Snuggled against her chest was Pixie, the tiny kitten they had adopted months ago to keep Monty company, and who, with her tufty ears, fluffy tortoiseshell coat and seeming refusal to grow, had chosen instead to attach herself to Laura.

Sensing his presence, Pixie opened one eyed and surveyed him for a moment, before returning to her slumber. Monty flicked his tail a couple of times, but otherwise refused to stir from his nap. Fickle animals, thought Robbie with a smirk. As if on cue, a cold nose poked his hand and he looked down, suppressing a laugh. The serious brown eyes of Darwin looked up at him and he reached down, giving the dog a pat. The dog turned and walked to the door, looking back at him and he sighed, wandering through to the kitchen and opening the back door, wincing at the blast of cold air.

Scarcely a week after they had both retired, James had turned up asking if he fancied a walk with him and his new companion. When he had introduced Robbie to the sable and white smooth collie, the recently retired DI had choked with laughter at his former sergeant and friend having a dog with that particular name. James had shrugged and muttered something about not being able to change it when the dog was nearly two, and then proceeded to regale Robbie with Charles Darwin's professed lifelong belief in God, but struggles with religion. Robbie had smirked, and found an errant tennis ball for the dog to play with.

Once Darwin was back inside and tucked in his basket, Robbie locked up and headed back to the living room where Laura hadn't so much as twitched. She was so tiny, he mused as he ran his fingertips softly through her hair, murmuring her name. Laura sighed, but didn't open her eyes, a testament to her level of exhaustion. Not wanting to wake her, he gently extracted Pixie, setting the cat down with Monty, and then carefully peeled away the blanket, tossing it across the cushions out of the way. Laura shivered in her sleep, and curled herself tighter. He whispered quietly into her hair as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.

Perching on the edge of the bed with her in his lap, he managed to get her out of the stretchy cotton trousers and cosy fleece sweater she liked to relax in during the evenings and then tuck her carefully into bed. By the time he returned from the bathroom she had rolled over and vanished below the quilt. He crawled in beside her and reached out an arm to wrap around her waist, snuggling her to him. His last thought before succumbing to slumber himself was how glad he was to finally be home, with her, where he belonged.

…

The morning dawned cold and clear, a crisp frost blanketing the ground. Spurred by the long week, late night and drawn out car ride home, Robbie slept on well past nine o'clock before emerging, slowly and serenely, from the hazy world of dreams and peaceful tranquillity. He felt the warmth of her body against his chest, and the soft tickle of her hair against this cheek and smiled long before opening his eyes and yawning contentedly.

"Morning love," he murmured and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She groaned something incomprehensible and he pulled back concerned, resting the back of his hand where his lips had been just a moment before. She was hot, and clammy under his touch.

"Laura," he called gently, sitting up on one elbow and running a hand down the side of her face, his thumb tracing her eyebrow with care. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her expression glassy and slow to focus. "Are you alright?" he asked, worry creasing his brow. She took a deep, wheezing breath and sighed.

"Common cold I think," she rasped, reaching a hand up to stroke his face. "I'm so glad you're home." He kissed her forehead again and lay back down, holding her close.

"I'm glad to be back," he replied warmly, his hand tracing soothingly up and down her back as she snuggled deeply into his chest. Tucking her head into his shoulder she relaxed, so happy he was home. It had been a hard week without him to talk to and laugh with. What little sleep she had managed to accrue around call outs had been uneasy and restless without his warm presence beside her. She had mused more than once at what a difference the past eighteen months had made to her life.

"How long have you been feeling bad?" asked Robbie quietly, as his hand closed over hers and he laced their fingers together. Feeling utterly drained, Laura sank further into his chest and shut her eyes.

"A few days," she muttered tiredly. "I can't remember."

"Can I do anything?" he asked, his fingers stroking her hair soothingly.

"Just hold me," she mumbled, shivering. "Please. I missed you so much." Keeping his hand tangled with one of hers, he let the other return to wandering up and down her back, lulling her gently back to sleep as his fingers soothed her aching muscles. She was asleep within minutes, but he lay there for a long time, holding her and luxuriating in the loving intimacy of the moment.

Eighteen months ago, he mused, he had been on the verge of all this; not quite sure what to do with his feelings for Laura, stuck in his bachelor ways and perpetually lonely. Now, as he idly kissed her hair and listened to her raspy breathing, he wished he had made that decision so much earlier. He loved Laura, and he made a point of telling her regularly. It shamed him to admit it, but he had been grumpy over the last few days away from her, causing James to laugh on more than one occasion as he guessed the direction of his senior partner's thoughts. He felt like a school boy all over again; wildly, stupidly, madly in love with her.

They fit together so well. Years of close friendship had merged seamlessly into loving partnership and their life together. He wouldn't trade that feeling for the world. In his arms, she coughed and then groaned in pain, her eyes fluttering as she started to wake again.

"Sshh," he murmured in her ear, "I've got you love, you're safe. Go back to sleep."

"Robbie?" she mumbled, already half gone again.

"I'm here." His lips found her temple, lingering as she slipped away into a deep sleep. He would have been content to stay there all day, but he could hear Darwin downstairs. With a sigh, he pried himself out of bed, wrapped her in an extra blanket and headed for the shower to start the day.

…

Returning freshly laundered towels to the airing cupboard as he pondered what he might manage to get her to eat for lunch, Robbie looked up when Laura staggered into the bathroom, her hand trailing along the wall for balance.

"Steady pet," he cautioned as she wavered on her feet.

"The floor is moving," she remarked vaguely, her eyes far away and seeing a different reality.

"Is it now?" he asked, an eyebrow raising. "I think it's time we check your temperature isn't too high."

"I'm not high," she assured him confidently, confused that he would think that of her. "The dragon won't let me fly above the trees."

"Ok," he agreed amiably, opening the cabinet to find the thermometer. "But we're still going to check."

She took a step towards him, letting go of the wall and without its solid presence anchoring her, the room began to spin. She staggered heavily as her vision narrowed into nothingness. She didn't see or feel the floor rushing up to her; she was out before she tumbled to the carpet in a heap, her head smacking into the side of the bath as she landed.

Robbie glanced up at her just in time to see her eyes roll back and her muscles go slack. He lunged to catch her, but he was too far away and felt the breath leave his chest as her head cracked against the porcelain. Abandoning his search, he knelt beside her in seconds, reaching for a pulse. It was there, but it seemed odd. He ran his hands gently over her skull and bit his lip when his fingers came away smeared with blood.

"Laura," he cajoled, squeezing her fingers with one hand. "Come on love, wake up for me." When he got no response he scrabbled in his pocket for his phone and dialled 999.

...

...

Hmm... My first Lewis foray. This is what happens when October is so, so far away, and a tiny little one shot suddenly takes on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are always nice. Cheers, Got Tea?


	2. Chapter 2

James turned into the familiar street feeling refreshed and content. He was planning to pick up Darwin and ask Robbie and Laura if they would like to have lunch, but as he neared the house he felt his heart clench at the sight of the emergency ambulance parked on the street and the first response paramedic car right before it. He pulled up sharply and jogged up the pavement, feeling the breath catch in his throat as he turned onto the path up to the house and saw the green uniformed paramedics wheeling out the stretcher.

He saw in an instant that it was Laura; her neck and head were braced, blankets wrapped tightly around her inert body and her face was obscured by an oxygen mask, but despite that, he would know that blond hair and tiny figure anywhere. She is as much a friend to him as Robbie. By the time he reached them, the blood smeared on Laura's face and matted in her hair had become apparent, as had the eerily pale tone of her complexion. Her closed eyes could mean mere sleep, but James could feel that wasn't the case.

"Sir," he called out, seeing Robbie emerge from the house, following the third paramedic, the one who arrived alone, within minutes of the call and determined a trip to hospital would be necessary. Robbie's eyes flickered from the stretcher he had been fixed on, and found James standing just off the path, out of the way of the medics.

"Sir, what happened?" Robbie ran a hand through his hair and sighed. James noted the blood on his hands and the front of his sweater.

"She's not well! And then she fell. Hit her head, and I couldn't wake her up," Robbie followed the paramedics halfway down the path before stopping and searching for keys he didn't have. "The house," he muttered, floundering.

"I'll take care of everything," promised James. "I'll meet you there."

"Thanks," was Robbie's hurried reply before he climbed into the ambulance. James watched them pull away before heading inside, taking a few moments to let his mind catch up with the last few minutes. There was a bark from behind the closed kitchen door, and despite the circumstances, he grinned and pushed it open. Darwin jumped, planting his forepaws solidly on James hips and thrusting his head forward, seeking attention.

"Hey boy," laughed James scratching his dog's ears with both hands, and taking a few moments to wrestle playfully with his pet. "What happened to Laura hmm? I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on her for me." The dog sniffed his pocket, where James had stashed a treat before leaving home. Handing it over, James sent the dog out into the back garden and then searched for keys, finding Laura's on the hook behind the door. Thinking of Robbie's blood covered sweater, he made his way upstairs and fetched a clean one. Shutting the door behind him on the way out again, he saw Pixie's tiny face peering at him from the bathroom.

"What are you doing in there?" he asked, striding forward and scooping up the cat, who let out a pitiful meow and stared up at him with wide green eyes. He tickled her under the chin and then caught sight of the state of the bathroom; he drew in a sharp breath and he looked around. No wonder Robbie had looked so shell shocked. A potted plant had fallen into the bath, spilling soil all around it and the bath mat was covered in more blood, very blatantly marking the spot where Laura had fallen. Feeling slightly queasy, James righted the plant, scooped the soil back into the pot and then gathered up the mat and the cat, taking both downstairs with him. He tossed the bathmat in the washing machine, wondering if it was beyond repair, and then fetched Darwin back inside.

"Sorry Dar," he informed the dog. "I was hoping for a nice long walk, but you're going to have to stay here a bit longer." He checked the conservatory doors were locked, and almost tripped over Monty who was lying in the sun, snoozing. "You must be the laziest cat ever," remarked James. Monty sighed and rolled over, yawning as he stretched luxuriously, oblivious to all the drama.

…

Dodging the press of humanity crowded in the overflowing A&E waiting room, James made his way to the desk and held up his warrant card, asking for Laura Hobson. Crossing from the walk in side of the department to the arrival by ambulance side he found the right cubical, and inside, his boss sitting with his head in his hands.

"Sir?" he asked. Robbie looked up, momentarily confused.

"James," he waved to the empty seat beside his. "They've taken her to look at her head; she still hasn't come round."

"Have they said anything?" James tried to repress the sinking feeling in his stomach; surely it wasn't a good thing that Laura was still unconscious.

"Dehydration and fever so far. Her temperature is 39.8°C; they reckon that's why she fainted. They're testing for… whatever they test for," he shrugged and sank back into his chair, head resting against the wall.

It was nearly an hour later before a pair of orderlies brought Laura back; nearly an hour of the pair of them sitting in silence, stewing over all manner of possibilities and what could possibly be taking so long. Several times James tried to say something, and then stopped before actually opening his mouth, unable to find any point he could make useful in the situation.

"Has she woken up yet?" asked Robbie, who was already on his feet and at Laura's side, taking her hand in his.

"Yes," said a new voice from behind them. Both Robbie and James turned to see a tall woman with red hair, kind blue eyes and a white doctor's coat over scrubs standing with a file in her hands at the foot of the bed. "Doctor Kay," she held out a hand and Robbie shook it.

"DI Robbie Lewis." The doctor frowned at him.

"Is there an investigation going on here?" she wanted to know. Robbie shook his head.

"No. Laura, she's me other half."

"Right," the doctor nodded and unfastened the cervical collar. "Well, Laura's neck is fine. She's concussed, but I can't say to what degree until I can do neuropsychological tests. She also has the flu."

"Flu?" said Robbie.

"Yes," nodded Doctor Kay. "She was awake for a few moments after we scanned her head, but she was incoherent."

"The last thing she said to me was about a dragon not letting her fly higher than the trees," Robbie told her. Behind him, despite the gravity of the situation, James could not contain a snort of amusement.

"Aye, very funny," scowled Robbie drily.

"I'm sorry sir," laughed James.

"Well," continued the doctor, her lips twitching slightly at the exchange, "my primary concern is the fever; 39.8°C is right on the edge of dangerous. Her lungs don't sound too good either, and I'm concerned she's developing pneumonia." Both men were instantly serious again.

"So what now?" asked James.

"We get the fever down and manage her other symptoms. Hopefully antivirals will help."

"Hopefully?" asked Robbie.

"Some strains of flu are resistant to antiviral drugs," shrugged the doctor. She looked up at the pair of them. "Have you two had flu shots?" They both nodded. "Good! But if you even start to get symptoms, see a doctor. The sooner you get treatment, the more likely you are not to end up in hospital."

"Is she still contagious?" asked James, watching Laura sleep.

"Probably," surmised Doctor Kay. "How long has she been ill?"

"I don't know," said Robbie. "We were on a training course all week, just got back last night. She didn't say anything when I spoke to her, just that she was tired from being called out three nights in a row."

"Called out?" the doctor's eyebrows knit in questioning confusion.

"Doctor Hobson is a pathologist," supplied James, still watching Laura with concern in his eyes.

"Ahhh, well exhaustion wouldn't have helped. A few more days then, until she's no longer contagious," she added. "We'll get her transferred to a ward as soon as possible."

…

Later that evening James returned to the hospital with sandwiches and coffee, having been to feed the animals and take Darwin out for some exercise. Getting out of his car, he saw the sweater he had meant to give to Robbie earlier, and tucked it under his arm with a rueful shake of his head. Nothing like a handful of panic and worry to make a person forgetful.

The hospital had put Laura in isolation because it was still so early in the flu season. When he walked in, Robbie was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her hand and talking softly to her.

"She awake?" asked James, setting down his bag of food.

"No," sighed Robbie, moving to a chair by the wall. James sank into another and handed over a coffee. "Thanks. She did tell me there was a caterpillar eating her hair though."

James grimaced at the thought and looked at Laura, his lips pursed as he searched for improvement. She was still horribly pale, still on oxygen and still wheezing something shocking.

"How's the fever?" he asked.

"Down nearly a degree from this morning," yawned Robbie. He took a sip of his coffee. "38.9 degrees about half an hour ago."

"That's good," James commented, wishing for something more positive. Robbie looked at him.

"You ok?"

"I don't like hospitals."

"You've never said anything before," Robbie was curious. James sighed.

"I don't like seeing my friends in hospital," he elaborated.

"Ok," Robbie looked at him, waiting for him to say more. James simply shook his head and returned to his dinner. There was no way he was having that conversation with Robbie, good friends or not. Hospitals weren't really the problem, hospitals and Laura were. He flashed back to her bone chilling screams from the bottom of that grave and had to repress a shudder. Laura Hobson was the toughest woman he had ever known, but that night, seeing her out of her mind with terror, had scared him witless. He could still remember with vivid detail the way she had clung to him, unable to speak, unseeing and not responsive to anything he, or anyone else, said to her.

He remembered being downstairs in this same hospital, the doctors saying she was in shock, but otherwise relatively unharmed. She doesn't look unharmed, he'd wanted to shout at them. He remembered her vacant gaze and the silence that had dragged on seemingly unendingly, until he thought he would never hear her voice again. And then Robbie had arrived, out of breath from rushing when he had finally been able to escape from the scene and the damned procedures following what had happened. He'd taken one look at her, and then sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped her hands in his and forced her to look into his face, his eyes, dragging her back to reality where they could make a start in comforting her.

For months afterwards James had dreamt of that night, his unconscious mind replaying her terrifying screams inside his skull with an accuracy that left him gasping for breath and clutching the sheets in a cold sweat. And then there were the nights when his dreams created alternate realities and they were too late to save her before she suffocated cruelly, or the twins did other, equally horrifying things to her. Whatever the nightmares showed him, they were all thoroughly distressing. James had few friends, and those he did have, were treasured. Laura and Robbie chief among them. After all these years, they were more like family.

He watched her sleep and felt sick as a tangle of memories and thoughts about what could have happened assaulted him. There was still blood in her hair, but mercifully no longer covering the side of her face, like a scene from the many gruesome crimes the three of them had attended. From his seat James could see the four inch gash running through her hair from just above her temple. Oddly, there were no stitches.

"What did they do to that cut?" he asked, his stomach turning slightly.

"Glued it," said Robbie around a mouthful. He swallowed heavily and took a sip of coffee, inhaling deeply. "God, there was so much blood, I thought…" he trailed off and put down his sandwich, his appetite gone. He got up and moved to other side of the bed, where he reached down to tenderly stroke the side of her face. "I haven't been that scared in a long time," he confessed to James.

"The clouds," gasped Laura, her eyes flying open in panic.

"It's ok love," soothed Robbie, taking her hand and squeezing reassuringly. Laura shook her head frantically and groaned as pain exploded behind her eyes.

"The clouds are too low," she mumbled, screwing her eyes tightly shut against the agony. "The ostrich will hit his head on the clouds," she insisted, her voice fading as she slipped away again.

"We'll tell him to watch out for them," James assured her, his tone gentle but serious. They waited to see if she would say more, but she was asleep. "You staying all night?" Robbie nodded. "I'll see you in the morning then sir. Don't worry about Monty and Pixie, I'll take care of them."

"Thanks James."

"You'll let me know if anything changes?" asked James, and Robbie nodded again.

"Course."

...

...

Huge thanks to those who enjoyed part one, and took the time to let me know. I hope you like this chapter just as much. Many thanks for reading, Got Tea?


	3. Chapter 3

James woke to bright light streaming into his face and Darwin's snores in his ear. He raised his head and groaned. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa again; the dog was wedged between him and the cushions, paws in the air. He dropped his face back into the pillow and yawned deeply, before giving in and simply rolling off the edge, swinging his legs around as he went and landing on his feet with much more agility than he felt capable of. He staggered off for a shower, hoping to revive himself. A pot of tea and a couple of cigarettes later, and Darwin was standing by the door, that hopeful expression in his eyes.

It was still obscenely early for a Sunday morning as the pair of them walked through parks, side streets and trails on their way to Robbie and Laura's; only a few diehard people were about, fitting in exercise in some form or another. James unclipped the lead and stuck it in his pocket as they came to a trail near the river; Darwin bounded away as James followed at a more sedate pace. Walking, he had discovered when Darwin had moved into his life, was very therapeutic, and very good for thinking. He let his mind go as he meandered along, allowing his thoughts to flow freely as he untangled and sorted through them.

So preoccupied was he, that when he rounded a corner he almost tripped over a pair of German Shepard's who were busy befriending Darwin. A sharp whistle as he was straightening himself up made him glance left onto the path that joined the main walkway some fifty yards away. His eyes widened as he took in the figure walking toward him; even in jeans, trainers and an athletic sweater, there was no disguising the striking looks of the woman heading his way. The two dogs, hearing her command, gambled back to her side, where they walked with training and manners that made James look down at Darwin and smile.

"Good morning Ma'am," he greeted her, as she drew closer.

"James," replied Jean Innocent with a smile, "I didn't know you had a dog."

"I could say the same," he replied, indicating the two still waiting neatly beside her. They watched Darwin, as though they wanted to play, but were waiting for permission. Jean looked at them and smiled, she whistled a second note and the pair surged forward, charging off with Darwin.

"Grace and Ollie," she told him as they watched their pets racing each other. "They're ex-service dogs. They keep me company and remind me to exercise."

"Darwin," nodded James. "He does the same." They laughed as they fell in step, continuing their walk.

"How was the conference?" she asked.

"Very interesting Ma'am," he replied diplomatically. She laughed again and glanced his way, giving him that disbelieving look he and Robbie had become so accustomed to. "Some of it was," he amended honestly. "And some of it was a pointless waste of time."

"These things usually are a mixed bag," she sighed. "Have you heard about the M1 pile up?"

"Saw it," sighed James, shortening his stride a little to make it easier for her to keep up.

"You weren't caught in all that traffic were you?" He nodded.

"Yeah; it was after midnight when we got back." She shook her head.

"What a way to spend a Friday evening. I still can't believe no one died."

"Very fortunate," observed James.

"Hmm," agreed Jean. "Unlike the three waiting for you and Lewis on Monday. I had Andrews and Smith make a start, but Andrews is needed in court so they'll be handing the case, or cases, over. They haven't proven a link yet, but I really can't see there not being one."

"I heard about the bodies," said James, "but Ma'am, Lewis won't be in on Monday. Laura is in hospital." Jean stopped and stared at him, concern written all across her features.

"What happened?"

"She has flu, and a concussion. She was delirious yesterday, and she fell, hit her head."

"Did she lose consciousness?"

"Yes."

"Is she going to be ok?" They started walking again as Jean spoke.

"Well, she has flu, early in the season for it too, but most people recover well enough. The concussion? The doctor couldn't say yesterday because Laura's too out of it to test properly."

"Too out of it?" asked Jean, looking up at him curiously.

"The books were dancing on the shelves and her clarinet was playing to itself in the shower, among other things," said James gravely. "But you didn't hear that from me," he added with a sly smirk as Jean struggled valiantly not to laugh.

"Of course not," she agreed with a grin. They continued walking, eyes on the tangle of playful dogs up ahead. "How's Robbie taking it?" she asked. James considered the question, and his answer, thoughtfully. Jean might be their boss, but she had also become a good friend to all three of them, especially in the last couple of years.

"I think he's ok," said James at last. "He's not falling to pieces, but he is definitely stressed. He won't leave her though. I think it was a pretty big shock; there was a lot of blood, and it took ages for her to come around. Even then, her temperature was so high she didn't make any sense. That's why she was admitted. It was on the edge of dangerous, apparently."

"And the blood?" asked Jean, trying not to imagine a plethora of scary scenarios. James traced a finger through his hair, indicating Laura's injury.

"She split her head open when she fell, and you know head wounds bleed like there's no tomorrow." Jean winced.

"I do indeed. My son played rugby in school; the number of times those boys were in A&E getting stitched up I can't even tell you." James idly touched his chin.

"That's why I took up rowing," he commented wryly. Jean laughed with him, before growing thoughtfully serious again.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. James shook his head.

"I don't think so, but thank you." They were approaching the turn James needed to take. "This is me," he said, indicating the path. Jean whistled her dogs back again and James snagged hold of Darwin before he could follow his new friends the wrong way. He bid goodbye to Jean, and turned off the main path. Darwin trudged along beside him with a sigh, head down and brown eyes glancing to James accusingly at the sudden loss of his playmates.

"Don't look at me like that," protested James. "We'll be there in a few minutes, and you can play with Pixie to your hearts content."

…

She was falling, and no matter how quickly he moved, he couldn't catch her before her head slammed into the rock and she tumbled, lifeless and ashen, into the dirt. There was blood everywhere, but he barely noticed. It was her eyes; they were wide open and staring right at him, but they were empty. There was no mischievous sparkle, no glint of humour, and no sidelong smirk. They were just flat and empty. Dead.

Robbie opened his eyes and exhaled, the dream fading from the vivid reality it had been moments before. He ran a hand over his face, pressing his thumb and a fingertip into his temples as he took a deep breath. He sat up slowly and looked over at the bed, feeling his pulse slowly retreat to normal as he watched Laura sleep. He moved stiffly to her side and leaned down to kiss her forehead, desperate for the reassurance that the feel of her under his touch brought. Fed up with the nightmares, he dragged his chair closer so he could sit and hold her hand, his fingers tracing hers with gentle tenderness.

…

James pursed his lips, wondering how he was going to get Robbie to leave for a while. At the very least, the man needed a shower, change of clothes and a decent meal. There was a tap on the door behind them; both men swivelled to look. James stood and stepped out into the hallway.

"How's she doing?" asked Jean quietly.

"Definite pneumonia," sighed James. "The fever is down to thirty-eight point four and she's mostly with it again. Mostly, meaning she can converse sensibly, but then she's forgotten again the next time she wakes up."

"But?" asked Jean, sensing the reservation in his voice.

"She has a really bad headache, and she keeps coughing herself awake, which makes her head hurt more. She's also dizzy; she can't sit up without someone holding on to her." Jean sighed, and James stuffed his hands into his pockets with frustration.

"Robbie looks like he needs a break, and something to eat," observed Jean. James looked at her in exasperation.

"He won't leave her!"

"Really, is he trying to make himself ill too? I'll stay, you can take him," she declared, with a decisive shake of her head.

"Yes Ma'am," agreed James, hiding a grin. Trust the Chief Super to make the executive decisions. He followed her back into the room, his expression as serious as he could muster.

…

Jean closed her magazine with a sigh and looked over at Laura again. Her friend looked terrible; her skin so ashen she appeared close to fading away and her breathing was so harsh Jean could almost feel the physical pain and effort that went into every breath. Her left eye, temple and cheekbone were marked with brilliant shades of violet and deep blue where bruising from the impact of her fall had flared up. Laura coughed, a horrible sound erupting from her chest that made her entire body shake as she clutched at her pounding head and groaned in agony. Red rimmed eyes opened slowly as she gasped in a breathless rattle of air.

"Laura?" asked Jean uncertainly, as Laura stared at her, eyes focusing slowly.

"Why… can't I… breathe?" she rasped, her hand moving up to her face and fingering the oxygen mask she was wearing. Her voice was raw; her normally gentle pitch altered by congestion and an aching throat.

"You have flu, and bacterial pneumonia," explained Jean, watching her carefully. Laura's eyebrows twitched together as she thought about what the DCS had just explained and how she felt. The two seemed consistent enough. Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, Laura rolled onto her side, and promptly let out a deep hiss of pain as her entire body protested, a bone deep ache spreading like the weight of an elephant was slowly pressing down on her. She shivered, curling her legs up closer for warmth.

"Are you cold?" asked Jean, still watching carefully. Laura nodded and screwed her eyes tightly shut when the action made her head pound viciously. Jean opened the bedside cabinet and pulled out a spare blanket; shaking it out she tucked it around Laura, who was concentrating on taking slow, even breaths.

"Thanks," sighed Laura as Jean sat back down again.

"You're welcome. How do you feel?" Laura scowled.

"Like I'm not far off being one of my own patients," she muttered. "God my head hurts."

"Ah, yes. You have a concussion too," nodded Jean. "Apparently you hit the bathtub on the way down. They glued your scalp back together though, it should heal fine."

Laura blinked, confused and tried to gather her thoughts, a difficult task when they were trying so hard to escape.

"What day is it?" she asked at last.

"Sunday," replied Jean.

"Robbie's back then?" Jean nodded again.

"They got home late Friday. Well, I suppose it was really very early on Saturday morning."

"I missed him," murmured Laura, more thinking aloud than actually conversing. It was hard to concentrate on conversation when she was so tired that her mind kept wandering all over the place. Tears formed in her eyes as her frustration climbed. She glanced hopefully around the room, but saw no one else.

Jean smile sadly, knowing exactly what it felt like to miss someone that much. She could see Laura's focus waning.

"It's ok," she soothed gently. "Robbie will be back soon; James took him home for a little while to get cleaned up and get some food. He's been here since you were brought in." Laura looked like she wanted to say something else, but exhaustion was winning and her brow creased in confusion.

"Robbie?" she mumbled, tears falling slowly but steadily now. "What's going on?" Her voice slurred and her eyes took on a hint of panic. She stared at Jean, lost.

"It's ok," Jean repeated gently. She picked up Laura's hand and squeezed lightly, using a tissue to wipe away her tears. "You're fine, you're safe. He'll be here in a bit, I promise."

Utterly confused and totally beyond the real world now, Laura trembled with anxiety as her eyes flickered and her breathing became shallower. Jean kept her hand snugly tucked in her own, and perched on the edge of the bed, talking softly and reassuring her. Within minutes Laura was asleep again and Jean sank back into her chair with a heavy sigh, returning to her post of watch keeper as a feeling of deep sadness settled over her.

...

...

Wow, huge thanks to those following this story, and especially to those who have taken the time to review. Your kind words mean so much to me.


	4. Chapter 4

"She was awake," confirmed Jean as Robbie returned to his place beside Laura's bed. "I don't think she really knows where she is, or what's happening," she continued, "but she seemed reasonably aware for a couple of minutes."

She cast a critical eye over Robbie as he thanked her for staying with Laura. Physically he looked better for fresh clothes and a shave, but his eyes still held that heavily troubled and vaguely terrified feeling she had picked up on earlier. Wondering if he had said anything, she glanced at James, who merely gave a half shrug and tilted his head very slightly in answer to her silent question. Of course he hadn't.

She turned back to the bed, where Robbie was now sitting, Laura's hand in his, as he kissed her fingers. It was such a quiet, loving moment that she felt unexpected tears burn at the back of her eyes as she felt another crack open up in her armour. She bit the inside of her lip until she regained her control. Robbie's fingers traced Laura's cheek, skirting the heavy bruising and Jean felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she remembered Laura's distress earlier.

"I'm sorry," she apologised as she reached for her coat. If she hadn't sent them away, maybe none of this would have happened.

"For what?" asked James, confused. She took a deep breath and tried to find a smile.

"That you both had to go away for the week." Robbie twisted to look at her and shrugged.

"We had been putting it off for months," he replied, sinking into the bedside chair, Laura's hand still in his.

"Yeah," nodded James. "We had to go sooner or later."

"Right. Of course! Well, I'd better go then. Bye." She turned and walked out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her.

"What was all that about?" asked Robbie, his eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea," said James, still staring at the door.

…

Laura slept the day away, waking briefly several times but without really understanding anyone or anything around her. She would lurch out of slumber in the middle of a coughing fit, fighting to breathe and struggling not to scream at the resultant waves of fire ricocheting around inside her skull as her chest heaved and her body shook with the effort. Invariably nothing made sense and before she had to fight too long her body would shut down again, pulling her back from the conscious world.

Long after midnight had been and gone, she found herself clutching the bed sheets as her chest convulsed with the effort of the coughs tearing out of her. Her lungs burned, and her vision darkened as the pain in her head reached a point she had thought impossible. Strong, gentle hands grasped her back, leaning her forward and smoothing over muscles that were tight with spasm. A soothing voice murmured in her ear, waiting out the violence happening within her body.

With her lungs compromised by the pneumonia, and her sinuses feeling as though they were trapped within a vice, breathing slow, steady breaths to try and regain some control as the wracking coughs slowly subsided was barely endurable. Her vision was blurred by her watering eyes, and the intense dizziness brought on by any change in her body position buzzed in her head as waves of bile clawed at the back of her throat. She swallowed, refusing to vomit and clamped her eyes tightly shut to ward off disorientation.

As her breathing eased and her head began to clear, she could concentrate on other things. Those hands, still stroking up and down over the tense muscles surrounding her spine, were wonderfully warm, soft and familiar. She relaxed as the knowledge that he was here flooded her consciousness, instantly warming her heart.

"Alright now lass?" he asked, and she smiled inside at his warm tone.

"Yes," she replied, the word emerging as a whispery squeak, her abused throat protesting even such a small syllable.

"Close your eyes a moment then love, while I sit you back," he said, not wanting the dizziness to overtake her again. He settled her back against the pillow; the head of the bed slightly raised to ease her breathing and tucked the blankets back around her. Even with the fever reduced, she still had chills and was perpetually cold.

Laura did as he asked, concentrating on the feel of his hands against her skin and ignoring the throbbing headache and persistent soreness of every muscle in her body. When she opened her eyes, he was there, gazing watchfully down at her as his hand lingered on her arm, his thumb idly drawing circles, reassuring both of them. She smiled at him, pushed the oxygen mask aside and pulled gently on his shirt; he bent down and she turned her head, pressing a soft, loving kiss to his cheek.

His fingers stroked her hair, and his thumb ran lightly over her eyebrow as he returned the gesture, his lips lingering on her forehead as the knot of worry in his chest slowly loosened, the shards of icy fear beginning to melt when she sighed at his touch. When he pulled back, he gently slipped the mask back into place because, without it, her breathing had already worsened in those few precious moments the pair of them had stolen and she wasn't allowed to have the nasal tube, because the flu had left her too congested to breathe that way.

Laura stared as he sat back up on the bed; she wanted to kiss him properly, but that wouldn't be fair. There was no way she would willingly share whatever germs had caused the horrendous onslaught of symptoms, and even less of a chance she would let him suffer the same given any chance to prevent it. Despite that, his touch had left her feeling peaceful, and, as always, loved. He could still see the hint of frustration in her eyes though, and after watching her thoughtfully for a moment, he kicked off his shoes and sat carefully beside her before folding his arms around her. Instantly she felt herself slide into his embrace; her head tucked into his chest as he curled one arm around her back and the other around her waist.

"Is that better?" he asked, tilting his head to press his cheek against her hair. She hummed a contented reply, her hand running along his arm until her fingers found his, sliding them together and he felt a smile break though for the first time in too long.

…

The night nurse, a hopeless romantic, found them an hour later, both fast asleep in each other's arms. Given the slight improvement in her patient's vitals and sats, she left them to it. They both looked relaxed and peaceful in sleep, and since they weren't doing any harm, she saw no reason to ask the man to return to his chair.

…

Monday morning dawned, the sunlight poking in through curtains that were barely large enough to conceal the windows. Robbie awoke first; he lay unmoving, Laura still cocooned in blankets and cradled to his chest. Sometime in the night, after one of the many coughing fits that jarred them both so abruptly awake, they had rolled to the right and as the sun spilled its bright, early morning rays into the room, it illuminated the deep bruising covering the side of her face. He shivered and cuddled her closer, her warmth reminding him that she was still with him, and on the mend.

He closed his eyes again and nuzzled her hair, trying to fill his mind with the happiness she always brought out in him. The dream had replayed itself over and over as they slept; a mixture of outcomes, all as horrible as the last, had taunted him to the point where each time she woke, gasping and choking, desperate for air, it was a relief to return to reality and sooth her. He had learned quickly that a light massaging touch to her back helped ease the spasms, but there was nothing he could do for her pain. The doctors had given her analgesics for the general headache and body aches, but the wracking coughs made her head pound viciously.

She twitched slightly against his chest and he smiled; she would be awake soon. She mumbled something under her breath, as she was often wont to do minutes before waking, and he couldn't help but be charmed all over again at the endearing quirk. With his eyes still shut, and ignoring the hiss of oxygen, he could almost believe they were home in their own bed. Almost, but not quite.

She turned in his arms until she could snuggle into his chest, automatically tucking her head into his shoulder. His lips pressed to the top of her head, he listened to her breathing; still a wheezy, raspy rattle in her chest. The fever hadn't totally left either, though it was no longer dangerous; she was just mildly warm to his touch.

Her hand moved across his arm, he caught it before she could knock the IV catheter out and laced their fingers together. She sighed and blinked, her bearings slowly returning as she took in his close proximity.

"Robbie?" she murmured, almost unable to believe he was really there. She pulled her head back slowly and looked up at him.

"Laura," he breathed softly as her bright, clear, aware blue eyes met his.

"I thought you were never going to get home," she said and yawned sleepily. "Did you get stuck in traffic?"

After the past two days, the absurdity of that statement under the current situation made his lips twitch and a laugh escaped without his meaning it to. She looked at him quizzically, her eyebrows drawing together in a beautifully confused expression. Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and kissed her forehead. Even more confused, she moved to kiss him properly and discovered, when tilting her head to the side, the mask sitting over her mouth and nose. Her frown deepened as his fingers, still clasping her, brought her hand to his lips where he brushed gentle kisses to her fingers.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Dreadful," she replied, without thinking. Her eyes narrowed as she considered that statement and her mind wandered back over the week. "I thought I had a cold," she mused. "I had a sore throat and headache on Tuesday evening, and it went downhill from there. I wanted to wait up for you last night, but I was so tired I fell asleep." He smiled at her and cupped her cheek, smoothing away her frown with tender fingers.

"It's Monday," he told her quietly, "not Saturday." Her eyes flickered around the room, settling on the monitors she could see behind him. She watched the displays, her mind adding up the information they provided as she took stock of what her body was telling her. Muscular aches, shortness of breath, chest pain, slightly elevated temperature and chills, runny nose, sore throat, serious fatigue, and the headache from hell. She'd bet money on a cough as well. And there were two days missing from her memory.

She scowled as a clear picture formed, and reached up to rub the side of her head which itched. Her fingers came into contact with the glued cut and what felt like dried blood in her hair. Inhaling sharply, she opened her mouth to ask what had happened and felt an unmistakable tickle rising in her chest.

"Shut your eyes," said Robbie, quickly sitting up and pulling her with him as the coughs exploded out of her lungs, leaving her eyes streaming and her nose running as she gasped for air. Her head was pounding, her vision blurred and her ears rang as she felt him work his hands up and down her back, soothing her. Her stomach rolled and, too late, she clamped her eyes shut, forcing back the dizziness threatening to overwhelm her. When the coughing finally subsided, Robbie's hands stilled and he lay back down, tucking her into his chest once again.

"You've done that before," she wheezed, breathless.

"I've had a couple of days practice," he agreed. "It seemed to help you." She concentrated on breathing, her body feeling old, tired and extremely sore. The muscles in her chest were pounding with abuse and she took comfort in the warmth of him pressed against her.

"Influenza, pneumonia and concussion" she said at last.

"Three out of three Doctor," he agreed.

"Any chance this is just a dream?" she asked, exhausted. "I'd really like to wake up now."

"Sorry love," he sighed, tucking blankets back around her as she shivered. Her hand rested against his cheek and she stared at him.

"I love you," she said quietly. "I missed you. It was a long week."

"Same here," he told her with a smile. "On all three counts." She sighed softly, and drifted, easily and peacefully this time, back into slumber.

...

...

Thanks for reading. I'm sorry for all the angst; for those wondering, this is supposed to be a love story. Hang in there with me. Cheers, Got Tea?

…


	5. Chapter 5

Drinking his tea from a to-go cup, James traded Robbie his car keys for the bedside chair and sat down to keep an eye on Laura. Not that he suspected she needed anyone to keep an eye on her, but if it eased Robbie's mind while he nipped home to shower and eat breakfast, then keep an eye on her he would.

"Don't make her laugh," warned Robbie before he kissed the sleeping Laura's forehead, nodded his thanks to James and hurried out of the door.

James stared into his mug as he sat there, drinking and ruminating on the current state of affairs. So lost in thought was he, that his tea had cooled substantially before he felt that prickly feeling that he was being watched and had been for some time. Clear blue eyes were fixed on him as Laura considered the near troubled set of his shoulders and the pensive expression marring his face as he stared into the depths of his tea, as though it would reveal all he sought.

"What's troubling you?" she asked, and he nearly flinched at the harsh whisper illness had inflected on her tone. He shook his head and drained his cup with a grimace before putting it aside. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she recognized his unwillingness to talk, yet.

Instead, James reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box, which, when he opened it, revealed itself to be a small, magnetic, travel sized chess board.

"You owe me a rematch," he said, "and I thought, if you're feeling up to it, I might challenge you while I have a possibility of winning." Laura smiled and nodded, watching as he set up the board. A couple of years ago, on a rainy afternoon when the three of them had been huddled in a pub, waiting out a storm, a chessboard had somehow materialized and James had discovered, to his delight at first, a real chess opponent in Laura.

While Robbie looked on, they had sat and played, and James had learned quickly that he would not be walking away the winner quite as easily as he had thought, for Doctor Hobson, it transpired, was quite the talented player.

He presented her with the ready board, balancing it on the edge of the bed and giving her the option of white or black. She chose black and waited for him to make the first move, shifting the pillow and curling onto her side.

"How was your morning?" she asked as she studied him.

"You're three bodies are definitely linked," he said thoughtfully, considering his move. "They're all members of…" he looked up at her and trailed off when he saw the contorted expression of pain marring her face as she screwed her eyes tightly shut, her breath catching in her throat as she clawed at the mask, tugging it aside before sneezing several times in rapid succession. She gasped at the agony of the pressure in her sinuses releasing and moped her streaming eyes with the tissue James had pressed into her hand.

He stared at her, his eyes widening as the little colour in her cheeks drained and she struggled to get her lungs to cooperate, forgetting to replace her oxygen as the violence of sneezing set off the thundering inside her battered head and all else ceased for the long moments it took her body to calm again.

The sound of her breathing, that wheezing whistle of air entering and leaving her lungs was worsening rapidly, and he felt a deep sense of alarm building in his chest as he watched her lying there, clutching her temples, curled protectively forward as though someone or something was trying to punch through her chest.

Realizing, abruptly, what the problem was, he picked up the mask and held it in place for her until she could slip the elastic back in place. He sat, tense and hawkishly watchful as she slowly relaxed and unfurled from her position, her face taking on a more comfortable look as she looked up and searched for him. She saw immediately the fearful horror in his eyes and knew instantly what was bothering him.

She had often wondered if that night had left a lasting mark on James. Robbie had told her the sound of her terrified screams had given him nightmares for months. Had James had a similar experience? She honestly couldn't remember screaming, couldn't remember much beside her own abject terror and the look on the face of that girl, staring down at her. She could only just remember James holding her, somehow climbing out with her still in his arms. Everything else was a blur of pure, overwhelming fear.

And after, he had never talked about it with her. The pair of them had been there afterwards, looked after her even. But they had never discussed what had happened, and she wondered now if that was a mistake. Because looking into his eyes now, she could see James was remembering it all far too clearly.

She reached out and squeezed his hand; he blinked at her and she watched as his eyes returned to normal, the emotion fading to concern and then finally a slight smile.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "If I cough, or sneeze, or laugh my head feels like it's been slammed in heavy iron door." James nodded, Lewis' parting order now making more sense.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked him bluntly, because if she couldn't get it out of him now, she doubted she would ever be able to. He looked back at her intently; he knew what she was asking, and he wondered if there was any way of getting out of the question. Her eyes remained fixed on him when he kept silent, and he had to marvel at her. Even huddled in a hospital bed, starved of oxygen and full of bacteria she was as determined and full of fight as ever.

"Not anymore," he answered her honestly, straightening the chess board and its pieces. She raised an eyebrow when he didn't put one of hers back quite where she had left it. Nothing wrong with her observational skills either, he thought with a grin, knowing then that she was truly going to be ok.

"Then why are you so troubled James?" she asked, her tone as soft as her raw throat could manage.

"Friends are the family you choose," he said quietly, quoting a magnet on her fridge door. "And you scared me; the ambulance, all that blood… it just made me remember Halloween. That's all. It's nothing sinister, it's just bad memories."

She stared at him, her eyes holding his with that penetrative, searching, considering expression he knew so well. She wouldn't be thrown off course, wouldn't let go of something if she wasn't satisfied with the answer or the outcome. Her tenacity was unnerving sometimes.

"It's just bad memories," he promised truthfully and for a moment her eyes narrowed before she nodded and slid back into the pillows, letting out a grimacing sigh before relaxing slowly. She eyed the chessboard for a moment, and made her move. He scowled at her. She smirked back at him. And then her expression shifted away from playful, and back to serious.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly, her eyes sad as she stared down at the board without really seeing it. "I'm sorry that you have those memories and that they haunt you." James abandoned all thoughts of chess and he looked up at her, suddenly simultaneously alarmed and angry.

"It's not your fault," he said, almost forcefully. "Laura it's… what _they_ did to you is not your fault. It's _their_ fault. And it's _their_ fault that you and I and Robbie have these memories."

"I know that," she replied, a little stunned by his vehement insistence.

"Then why are you apologising?" his tone was back to gentle.

"Because I still feel like some of it is my fault." She shrugged, and promptly wished she hadn't as soreness flared in muscles she knew were there because of her medical knowledge, but rarely ever noticed. "It's irrational, and I know it, but it's still there."

He acknowledged the validity of her argument, knowing all about irrationality after all, because really, what harm was a tiny eight legged insect going to do to him, a six foot three giant in comparison? But that didn't mean he had to like it. It didn't make him any less afraid of spiders either.

"Ok," he nodded, because the argument has come to an impasse, an understanding of sorts, and they would have to leave it there. They returned to their game for a while, before something that had bothered her at odd moments in the past resurfaced and she had to ask.

"Did I ever thank you? Afterwards, I mean?" His head tilted to the side slightly, he gave her a confused glance.

"For what?"

"Finding me! Saving me, jumping in that… that hole… for rescuing me from… _them_."

"Yes," he smiled. "You did," he assured her with a decisive nod. "Several times. I take it you don't remember."

"There are a few gaps in my memory," she acknowledged wryly. "During and after. Sometimes I find it disturbing, and sometimes I think it might be for the best."

"Does it bother you still?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"Not much. But I don't like Halloween anymore. It makes me a little uneasy. I make sure I'm never on call. That bothers me. That I make sure I'm not on call, I mean."

"Do you still have nightmares?"

"Rarely," she answered, pulling the blankets tighter and fighting off a yawn. "And something always triggers them; exhaustion, occasionally I come across a body that makes me remember something. Last year I fell face first in the garden while I was planting flowers; I woke up screaming that night. It scared the hell out of Robbie."

She smiled then, remembering something and James couldn't help but feel better at the way her whole face lit up. It was a nice contrast to the agony of earlier, and the gravity of the last few days.

"Thank you for looking after him," she said, all seriousness back again. She gestured vaguely to the room and their surroundings. "For making him eat, and staying."

"It's my pleasure," he grinned. "He was miserable all last week. I threatened to tell Innocent I'd refuse to go away from home with him again for that long. He said he'd tell her himself."

She smiled again, and pointed to their game.

"Maybe I will tell her. Now, are you going to take your turn or not?"


	6. Chapter 6

Robbie had to smile as he walked back through the door at the hospital; Laura and James were both hunched over a chess set, staring intently at the pieces.

"Are you beating him lass?" he asked, perching on the bed behind her and studying the game over her shoulder.

"Yes," she rasped, as James said, defiantly,

"No." They all laughed and Robbie grinned at James.

"It's good for you to lose occasionally. Character building and all that." James shook his head and sighed.

"If you say so sir," he said, getting to his feet. He picked up the board and placed it on the table out of the way.

"I'll finish winning later," he promised Laura. She smiled, and thanked him for his company before he disappeared out the door; on his way back to track down the killer of the three bodies her memory, in the confusion of the last few days, has misplaced her recollection of autopsying.

Settling back further into her pillows, Laura surveyed Robbie with a critically appraising eye; he looked better for his shower and shave, but still seemed burdened by troubles. Her mind wandered back over her conversation with James and she bit her lip as distressing thoughts descended on her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him as he repositioned his chair closer beside her bed.

"Isn't that my line?" he asked, his eyes showing his amusement. She yawned and waved a hand in a vaguely conciliatory gesture, ignoring for the moment, while she still could, the pain and exhaustion tugging at her bones.

"I can tell something is bothering you Robbie," she said bluntly, because really, when had she ever shied away from her worries concerning him.

"You know me far too well," he sighed, abandoning the chair and sitting back on the bed again, his hip gently pressing against her thigh as his hands wrapped hers comfortably in his.

Their eyes locked on one another, a silent conversation of sorts passing between them. On the surface he looked fine. Physically he looked fine too. But his underlying troubled mind, she could read as plain as day in his gaze.

"Do you have nightmares?" The words were out before she could think about censoring them; damn the exhaustion plaguing her! If she could just sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, just get some length of uninterrupted, restorative rest, maybe she would begin to feel just the tiniest bit better.

His eyes widening, he gazed at her, stunned she had hit the nerve with such head on accuracy. But then again, he shouldn't be surprised, he supposed; after all, she's incredibly well attuned to him. She always has been. She can read him like an open book, and her observational skills are outstanding.

"I can never tell if you're dreaming," she continued, giving in to the now open line of conversation. "You don't talk in your sleep like I do; you've never woken up screaming from nightmares like I have. I could bore you with all the details of your sleep cycle I have observed, but I still never know when, or if, you're dreaming."

Her eyes fixed on him, she could feel the hot, angry itch of tears forming. She worried so much about the man sitting in front of her; she loved him more than she could possibly articulate and when he was in trouble, she was inexplicably dizzy with fear.

"I dream all the time," he told her quietly. "Mostly about you. I dream a lot about memories, things we've done or moments we've shared, and then about moments I want to share." He smiled and lifted her fingers, pressing her palm to his cheek before kissing it gently. Her answering smile was just as full of love and tenderness. But her eyes still held a wary, worried question and he knew he had to answer her.

"Sometimes," he acknowledged with a small nod. "But not very often." She could see it in his face.

"Except?"

"The last few days," he sighed and she closed her eyes tightly as the unwanted tears spilled over, dripping hotly and silently down her cheeks, running down the side of the cold plastic mask.

"What happened?" she finally asked.

"You had no idea where you were and you fell," he said quietly, his voice rough and distressed by the memories. "I was too far away to catch you and you smashed your head against the bath. I can see it so clearly; there was blood everywhere and I couldn't wake you up." He paused, his hands trembling slightly as his fingers traced hers where they still lay in his palms.

"Every time I go to sleep," he admitted finally, "I keep seeing it happen again, but the outcome is worse." And that's it; the old scar that will never truly heal. The loss of a loved one in a horrible, unexpected and violent way. The fear that will always be there, no matter that they are committed to each other for the rest of their lives.

And committed they are. He knew whole heartedly, a long time before the actual events unfolded, that when the time came to turn that new page and write a new chapter, she was the one he was going to write it with. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that when it happened, and he was finally ready to take that step, there would be no going back.

So many years of close friendship made it so easy for them to slide comfortably, effortlessly and blissfully into their loving romantic partnership. Knowing each other inside and out, all the little things they each like and dislike, their habits, from the good to the bad and the amusingly quirky, and the secrets and fears that lurk beneath the surface made it easier to concentrate on building the foundations of forever.

They talk about anything and everything; they made a point of it, each having discovered the therapeutic value of having someone else to care about the things that bother them, or merely just the joy of someone to share something with that might otherwise seem utterly innocuous or pointlessly insignificant. They share everything there is to share, wilfully, happily and by mutual consent.

"I'm can't remember Friday," she said, her tone heavily inflected by the tears still running down her cheeks and the building congestion accompanying them. "Just that it was dark and I sat down to wait for you. That's it; nothing else. I can't remember the bodies James was talking about earlier, and I can't remember most of Thursday either."

Robbie shrugged in response.

"You had a pretty good knock to the head love," he smiled softly at her. "I think you can be forgiven for forgetting a few details." Laura shook her head slowly, wincing even at the slight motion.

"That's not my point," she replied, and he could feel the beginnings of agitation in her tone, as well as the slight, tense shift of her fingers in his.

"What is it then?"

"What if I pushed myself too hard and this is my fault? What if I ignored the symptoms and let myself get much worse than I needed to? I might work with the dead, but I'm still a doctor. I know what the flu looks and feels like. And if I did ignore it, then it's my fault I'm here, and it is definitely my fault I fell and that you now have nightmares."

For a moment, Robbie said nothing. He took a deep breath and pushed away the unease he felt at the departure of Laura's normal calm nature, rationality, self-confidence and belief in scientific logic and fact. As disconcerting as he found it to be at her bedside in hospital, he found it worse by far that that she was not merely physically ailing, but emotionally unsteady as well. Doctor Kay had warned him that with the extent of the concussion, it was likely Laura might not be quite herself for a while afterwards, but a warning and seeing the results first hand were two entirely different things.

"You're wrong," he said bluntly, but with a smile tempering his words as she watched him, one eyebrow lifting slightly as if challenging him to prove it. That tiny hint of her normal spark made him grin inside with an accompanying wave of considerable relief.

"You like evidence, so here it is," he challenged firmly. "I spoke to you every day this week, more than once, in fact, and you were convinced you had a cold. So was I. On Friday night, when I got home, you were still breathing normally, and you didn't have a high temperature. All of that got worse overnight. When I left you in bed that morning, you were still making sensible conversation. The next thing I knew, you were staggering into the bathroom and telling me about dragons and flying and treetops. I should have caught you at that point and made you sit down at the very least, but I didn't and less than a minute later you were lying on the floor, bleeding."

"That is not your fault Robbie," Laura insisted firmly, her agitation increasing.

"No," he replied calmly. "It's not. It's not my fault, and it's not your fault either. It just happened. And even though it scared me no end, and has given me nightmares I wouldn't wish on anybody, I still love you every bit as much. More even."

She stared at him for a long time, and he could see it happen as she visibly began to relax. Her shoulders slid further back into the pillow, the tension in her expression drained away and her hands shifted, her fingers gently threading through his.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, a rueful smile just discernible beneath the mask.

"Why are you sorry?" he wanted to know, thoroughly upset with the idea that she should have anything to feel apologetic about. She shrugged reflexively, and winced sharply.

"Ugghh, one of these days I'm going to remember not to move a single, wretched muscle," she groaned and scowled irritably. "I'm sorry I'm grumpy, and my head's a mess and I keep saying all the wrong things."

"It's ok," he soothed patiently.

"No it's not," she groused impatiently, but the fight very quickly visibly drained out of her. "I'm so tired," she sighed heavily. "I just want to go home and sleep. I hate hospitals. There's a reason I'm a pathologist."

"You prefer the dead to the living," remarked Robbie with a sad shake of his head. "I'm so glad I know where I rank."

"I _prefer_," retorted Laura, "that my patients not vomit on my shoes. And," she held his gaze as she spoke, "I _prefer_ the freedom of meeting nice detectives at crime scenes rather than being stuck in a building full of sick people all day."

They dissolved into joint, cheerful laughter, which inevitably gave way to yet another coughing fit and his hands running up and down over the cramping muscles of her back as a crushing headache built behind her eyes. And then, almost as predictably, they found themselves curled together, despite the fact that he was on top of the blankets and she was firmly tucked beneath them, as the yawns began to overpower her and the beginnings of another, likely equally restless, snooze began to creep up on the edges of her consciousness.

But despite feeling utterly exhausted and thoroughly beaten, she found herself still determined to get in the last word.

"You're wrong too, you know," she said with a sly grin. "You like the evidence, not me. I collect it and give you the facts, but I like the dead bodies. You deal with the puzzles." His answer was a defeated shake of his head, a tightening of his arm around her waist and the lightest pressure of his lips against the back of her neck.


End file.
